


Turn It Off, Turn Me On

by f-ing-ruthless-baz (f_ing_ruthless_baz)



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:01:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22985266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f_ing_ruthless_baz/pseuds/f-ing-ruthless-baz
Summary: “Turn your music down, you prick,” I tell him, trying to seem as menacing as possible, despite his advantage in height.“No one else seems to have a problem with the volume of my music, Snow,” he says. “Perhaps you just need a hobby that doesn’t include pressing your ear to the wall to spy on me.”I flap my mouth open and closed in vain and make an indignant noise in the back of my throat. “I’m notspyingon you, Baz,” I say, even though I have pressed my ear to the wall once or twice when I’ve heard him talking with someone in his flat.“Mm-hmm.” He doesn’t sound convinced.“Just turn your fucking music down, alright?” I say, clenching my hands at my sides as his lips twitch up into a smirk.He takes a step closer—I have to crane my neck back to keep eye contact—and leans in. “Make me.”After sharing a room with him for eight years at boarding school, Simon is furious that Baz is now his next-door neighbour. And he's more insufferable than ever.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 38
Kudos: 481





	Turn It Off, Turn Me On

**Author's Note:**

> Long time, no smut. I mean, I haven't posted _anything_ for a long time, so it seems weird to be back with a smutty one-shot. And then I'll disappear again until I can get one of my many WIPs done. If ever. But anyhoo! This is just a silly idea I had, and then immediately needed to drop everything and write, so. You're welcome, I guess?
> 
> Many thanks to my stellar betas, thehoneyedhufflepuff and warriorbeeofthesea, for the encouragement, typo fixes, and probing questions. 😏Also thank you, giishu and nunzibelle, for letting me inflict this upon you as well. Lol.

**SIMON**

“Baz!” I shout as I pound on the neighbour’s door. “I know you can hear me, you twat!”

The music inside his flat doesn’t stop. In fact, I think he’s playing his violin even louder, just to spite me.

Penny says she doesn’t mind that Baz practices his violin, since he never makes noise after dark. But she only thinks that because her room doesn’t share a wall with his, like mine does. He’ll watch films on his laptop, into the late hours of the night, and I can hear the muffled sounds through the wall next to my bed. I can’t help but strain my ear to try and make out what’s happening, so I end up too distracted to sleep and I’m dead on my feet at work the next day.

I’ve tried retaliating. Turning my music up—though that only seems to make Penny angry—and banging on the wall.

Somehow it’s worse than when Baz and I used to share a room back at boarding school. He got on my nerves then, sure, but he also tended to avoid the room when I was in there. I never knew why he despised me so much, but it meant I got time to myself, so I didn’t complain about that. (I did complain about his anal-retentive tidiness and how he was always snapping at me to pick up my shit.) (Sometimes I’d leave my dirty clothes in the middle of the room just to spite him.)

I don’t know why fate had to be so cruel as to move him in to the flat next-door, only a month after Penny and I moved here. I hadn’t seen him in years. I hadn’t thought about him in— Well, it’s not important.

I can’t stand the git.

He always acts so cool when I see him in the hallway or the lift, like he’s not at all bothered by my existence, even though I know he is. It infuriates me even more that he won’t show how much I’m getting to him. ( _Christ, I hope I’m getting to him_.)

“Come on, Baz!” I hammer the side of my fist against his door a few more times when the music doesn’t stop. “Just give it a rest already—”

The door opens suddenly and I jerk my hand back before I accidentally punch him in the chest. The music still hasn’t stopped. I guess he’s just listening to classical music for fun. Fucking weirdo.

“I could say the same to you,” he sneers, arching his eyebrow in that way he always has, to make me feel inferior.

“Turn your music down, you prick,” I tell him, trying to seem as menacing as possible, despite his advantage in height.

“No one else seems to have a problem with the volume of my music, Snow,” he says. “Perhaps you just need a hobby that doesn’t include pressing your ear to the wall to spy on me.”

I flap my mouth open and closed in vain and make an indignant noise in the back of my throat. “I’m not _spying_ on you, Baz,” I say, even though I have pressed my ear to the wall once or twice when I’ve heard him talking with someone in his flat.

“Mm-hmm.” He doesn’t sound convinced.

“Just turn your fucking music down, alright?” I say, clenching my hands at my sides as his lips twitch up into a smirk.

He takes a step closer—I have to crane my neck back to keep eye contact—and leans in. “Make me.”

Back at school, I would have sent him flying from those words, wrestling him to the ground until the other lads came to pull us apart. We’d both get sent to the headmaster’s office, even though he was the one who’d started it.

But we’re adults now, and I can’t solve every problem with my fists, so I just shoulder him aside and push my way past him, into his flat. (It’s unsurprisingly tidy. Like a showroom.)

“What are you doing, Snow?” he says as I storm through his flat, trying to find the source of his music.

“I’m going to turn it down for you,” I tell him. “Since you can’t seem to do it yourself.”

He lets the door fall shut behind him as he trails me to his living room. “You can’t just barge into my home like this.”

“You left me no choice.” I scan the room but I can’t find anything that could be the source, so I double back, pushing past him again to check the other end of the flat.

“You could choose to ignore me, have you ever thought of that?” he says smugly, though he’s right on my tail as I follow the music through an open door.

I realize it must be his bedroom, but I’m too pissed off to care about the invasion of privacy. We shared a room for eight years anyway, this hardly matters.

“I would, if you chose to stop being such a prick!” I see his phone docked in a speaker on the desk in the corner, so I stomp over and yank it out.

The music doesn’t stop, it just gets quiet and tinny, coming through the speakers of the phone itself.

“ _Idiot_ ,” I hear Baz mutter, only to find that he’s right behind me. He reaches his arm around me and takes the phone from my grasp in order to turn the music off.

A not-so-unpleasant shock runs through when his arm brushes mine, and I freeze. He’s still right behind me; I can hear him breathing as he does something with his phone, even though I’m not. Breathing, that is.

He reaches past me again to set the phone on the desk, and I can smell his cologne. The same he used at school. The one that would get me all muddled up when we’d get in a fight. ( _How can someone who’s such a jerk smell so good?_ )

I think about fighting him now. Turning around and pushing him back and pinning him to the ground—

“Happy now?” he says, and I can feel his words on the back of my neck. They send a shiver through me. “Did you get what you wanted from me?”

I swallow and shake my head, staring down at his hand, which is still on the desk in front of me. My pulse is pounding in my ears.

“What do you want, then, Snow?”

I place my hand over his, tentatively. I feel his arm tense up, but I curl my fingers around his hand and he inches closer behind me.

“This,” I say, lifting his hand and holding it flat against my stomach.

His breath gets even hotter on my neck as he rubs circles on my stomach, my t-shirt stretching and bunching under his touch. _This is what it’s all been leading to_ , I think, when I push his hand down to the front of my straining jeans. He doesn’t hesitate to cup his hand around me and start stroking me through my jeans, though I can’t bear to have them on a minute longer.

I push back against him as I open my flies, and I’m almost surprised to find him standing so steadfast behind me. He’s not backing away or playing this off as a joke meant to humiliate me. I can tell he wants this too.

He wraps his other arm around me, now, sliding that hand up the front of my t-shirt while the other slides down into my pants, and I let my head fall back onto his shoulder. His cool hands are a welcome relief against my burning skin. And he clearly knows what to do with them.

“Baz,” I say, hardly more than a breath of air, when he presses his mouth to my neck.

He hums his response into my skin as he brushes his thumb back and forth over one of my nipples.

“ _Baz_ ,” I whine. The bastard’s gonna make me come embarrassingly fast, before I’ve even touched him.

**BAZ**

I’ve got Snow babbling and writhing against me, under my touch. I’ve wanted this for nearly a decade and now he’s here and it’s real and it’s taking all my strength not to grind against him while I stroke him off.

He arches his back and snakes one of his arms behind himself, but I don’t understand what he’s trying to do until I feel him feverishly groping at the front of my trousers. Despite his uncoordinated efforts, I welcome the attention I’ve been craving for so long.

“Snow,” I rasp in his ear as I slow my hands on him. He whimpers and it’s an absolutely delectable sound. “Turn around.”

I crowd him against the desk as soon as he turns to face me, and his eyes flicker with worry for a moment, like he’s only just realized this is real. I shift my weight to back away—I’d never hold him here against his will—but he grabs the front of my shirt with both hands and pulls me in for a bruising kiss.

I’ve fantasized about kissing Simon Snow since I was fifteen, but I never thought it could be like this. Although this is how he does everything. Boldly. Assertively. Consequences be damned. (I suppose if he ever thought anything through, we wouldn’t be here right now, so I’m certainly not complaining.) (I can overthink enough for the both of us.)

After an awkward collision, we fall into a rhythm with our mouths, one that makes anticipation swell within me. He’s good with his tongue. I make a mental note of that.

He makes quick work of opening the buttons on my shirt and I let him push it off my shoulders before pulling his off as well. I’d love to count the freckles and moles scattered across his chest, but there’s no time for that now. I’ve got much more pressing needs at the moment.

**SIMON**

My shirt’s barely hit the floor by the time Baz starts pushing my jeans past hips, as though any shred of clothing left on my body is a personal affront to him. I fumble to take his trousers off as well, and he laughs against my lips as our arms tangle.

“You’re a disaster, Snow,” he mutters, though it’s hard to take him seriously with the way he’s cupping my arse.

I grab his arse in return and press my hips into him, causing him to grunt appreciatively. “I think you like that about me,” I say against the side of his head when he starts kissing me along my neck and shoulder.

He drags his lips up along my neck and nips at my earlobe. “I think I do.”

I almost melt at the rumble of his voice in my ear, heavy with _wanting_ , and I hug him closer. My whole life I’ve been finding excuses to touch him, it seems. I’m surprised I never thought of this one.

I want more of him, all of him, clawing at his back while I desperately mouth at his shoulder to taste his skin. His back arches and curves under my hands as he rocks his hips against me, like he was made for this. He’s always made everything he does look so effortless. Like when he played football back at school. Strong, graceful, and fucking ruthless.

**BAZ**

Snow’s panting against my shoulder and gripping my back, like he can’t get close enough. Certainly not as close as I would like. There’s too much between us. Too much fabric, too much air. Too much history. Too many walls.

I hook my thumbs into the waistband of his boxers; I’m taking these walls down.

He knocks into me with his knees, his elbows, his shoulders, as he fumbles to step out of his pants, and I back off to give him space and remove my own.

He’s staring at me like he would back at school, when I’d pissed him off one too many times, right before he’d tackle me to the ground. I think about goading him to tackle me now, as I back up towards my bed. But I don’t have to.

He’s got me on my back before I can say a word, and pushes me down into the mattress as he kisses me, his legs tangled up with mine. I buck my hips up into him and he growls before flattening his hand over my stomach to keep me still.

He draws his head back and looks down at his hand, running it over my chest as I arch into his touch. I want more. I want it all.

He’s practically shaking as he holds himself up on his other elbow, next to my head. I turn and kiss the inside of his arm.

“Baz,” he breathes, leaning in to kiss me again, as he takes me in his hand properly.

I moan into his mouth as he strokes me, and I feel him growl again at the back of his throat. He coaxes more unflattering sounds out of me until I’m gasping for breath. “Simon. Please, just—I want—”

“Yeah.” He nuzzles against the side of my face, his breath hot against my skin. “Have you got—”

**SIMON**

Baz reaches an arm out to his nightstand and fishes a small bottle out of the drawer without even looking, though I’m too preoccupied to be impressed with that now.

I hold onto his hand when he tries to pass the bottle to me, seeking out his lips with mine again for a lingering kiss before I trail down his neck and chest. I take my time, exploring the soft angles of his body with my mouth, without letting go of his hand. He pushes his free hand into my hair, and I hum contentedly as I continue downward.

His cock is flushed and hard against his stomach, and he shivers when I lick precome off the head.

“You’re a menace, Snow,” he says, his voice strained, as he grips my hair firmly. I give him a long lick up his shaft as my retort, and his grip tightens even more.

I plant kisses over his stomach, his hip, the tip of his cock, as I take the bottle from his hand and nudge his legs further apart. I kiss the inside of his thigh when he brings his knees up around me. His skin is soft and smooth there, and I hear his breath catch when I graze that spot with my teeth.

I give another gentle kiss before repositioning myself, kneeling between his open legs. He watches my hands as I spread lube onto my fingers, while I can’t help but watch his face. It’s a look I’ve seen before, that almost giddy look of satisfaction when he knows he’s gotten under my skin, when he knows I’m ready to throttle him. Like he derives some sick pleasure from riling me up to the point that I snap. But now I think it means something different.

I don’t think he’s pleased about upsetting me.

I think he’s pleased that I’m about to touch him.

**BAZ**

He smooths his clean hand along my upper thigh and hip while his other reaches down between us, one finger circling me slowly, teasing me.

“Snow,” I say, trying to sound threatening but coming across more desperate, “if you don’t do something—” I stop and let out a slow, shaky breath as he presses his finger into me.

“I prefer when you call me Simon,” he says, looking far too pleased with himself.

“ _Simon_.” I’m nearly whimpering now. _I want more. I want it all._

He takes his time, easing in, easing open, inching closer. He’s leaning over me by the time he reaches my swollen prostate, and I gasp as a jolt of pleasure shoots through me. Every curl of his finger is a spark of electricity spreading across my entire body and closing in all at once.

He’s watching me hungrily, and I want nothing more than to give him what he wants.

He raises his eyebrows, a silent question, and I nod.

**SIMON**

I love the way Baz writhes under my touch while I open him up, so pliant. He’s never been so receptive to my demands before, but maybe I just never asked this nicely.

I sit back just to watch him a moment, watch my fingers work their way into him, and give myself a slow tug with my free hand. I could just do this. Jerk myself off awkwardly with my left hand while making him come apart at the seams with the other. Maybe I will, some day.

But not today.

“Come on, then,” I say gruffly once I slip my fingers out and give him a light smack on the arse. He lets out a breathless laugh and twists himself to reach into his nightstand once more.

He’s really got a lovely laugh. I wish I’d known that sooner.

**BAZ**

I watch Snow’s hands as he rolls the condom onto himself and lubes himself up. He knows I’m watching him, too. He makes a bit of a show of it, grunting with each slide of his hand.

“Prat,” I say, and toss one of my pillows at his chest for him to prop up my hips.

He laughs as he does, but then he leans forward, holding my legs up at his sides, and I can see the look on his face is pure desire. He wants. I want. _I want it all._

I pull him down by the back of his neck to kiss him again as he presses into me, though I break the kiss with a gasp when he fills me up.

He lowers his face next to mine, letting out a shaky, _“Fuck,”_ against my neck as he drives forward into me again. And again. I scrape the back of his head with my fingertips, grabbing and releasing fistfuls of his hair with every thrust.

He’s going slower than I need him to, but I don’t mind drawing this out a little. I’ve wanted a willing and eager Simon Snow in my bed for years, I’m not about to rush him now. I can wait.

A little.

**SIMON**

He’s everything right now. _Baz_. He’s all I can think and feel and smell, and I’m trying not to seem overly eager, but _fuck_. Every little sound he makes, every slight movement of his hips, every time he tugs my hair—I feel like I’m going to lose it. Go absolutely feral.

“ _Baz_ ,” I growl, from the white-hot pleasure deep within me, when he hooks one of his legs behind my back. “I’m—”

“Go on, Snow,” he says, pressing the side of his head against mine. “Simon… _Fuck me_.”

I’d like to say I’ve never imagined those words coming out of Baz’s mouth, that I’ve never gotten myself off to fantasies of making him beg. I thought maybe I wanted control, but now I think I just wanted this. I wanted him to want me.

I thrust into him again, harder, and he makes this desperate sound. Like it won’t take much to push him over the edge. He grows louder and more desperate every time, and I feel my own release ratcheting up to the point of no return.

Baz tightens his grip on the back of my head, and grasps my arm with his other hand, urging it downward until I realize what he wants, and take hold of his cock loosely. I try to stroke him in time with my hips, but I’m just frantically groping at this point. He’s arching against the mattress, like every muscle in his body is pulled taut and waiting for relief, and I’m desperately trying to give it to him before succumbing to my own. Though I don’t think I have much choice in the matter. Soon my focus narrows to a point and my rhythm falters for a moment as I come inside him in a hot rush, crying out embarrassingly loud as I do.

“Simon… Yes… That’s it…” he says, tilting his back. I press my lips against the long line of his exposed neck as I stroke him through his orgasm, kissing him over and over until the last tremor ripples through him and he goes slack in my arms.

**BAZ**

“Well…” Snow says after a good minute, once he’s slipped out of me and collapsed on my stomach, a sticky mess between us that I’ll worry about later. He buries his face in my shoulder and huffs a laugh.

I stroke his hair back lazily. “What’s so funny?”

He lifts his head and grins at me, a blissed-out, lopsided grin. “If I knew this was how to get you to turn your music off, I’d have come knocking down your door ages ago.”

“Make no mistake, Snow. The music is going back on as soon as you leave.”

“Simon,” he corrects me. “And I guess I’ll just have to stay a while, won’t I?”

He nestles back against me and I press my face into his hair, to hide the fact that I’m smiling. “Can’t argue with that.”

**SIMON**

I do eventually go back to my flat. The next morning. After another successful go at it.

I try to sneak back in so Penny doesn’t realize I’ve been out all night, but she’s already up when I get in, eating cereal at the kitchen table.

“Morning,” she says, and for a second I think maybe she didn’t notice I was gone.

“Morning,” I reply, ruffling my hair as I walk past, towards my bedroom.

“You were right,” she adds, and I stop in my tracks and turn back to her with a questioning look. “About your room.”

“What are you—”

“I found one of your socks when I was folding my laundry, so I left it on your bed,” she says. “And yeah. You can hear everything from Baz’s flat in there.”

Shit.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to know about my WIPs and other random, vaguely Carry On or fanfic-related things I like to talk about, you can find me on tumblr as [@f-ing-ruthless-baz](https://f-ing-ruthless-baz.tumblr.com)!


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